Downstairs Parents
by onmyside
Summary: SPOILERS FOR CHRISTMAS SPECIAL! What would the house do without them? It would fall apart, most definitely. Charles Carson and Elsie Hughes are more than just a housekeeper and a butler. They are like parents to the staff and to some other people that live at Downton Abbey (although they both won't admit it...)
1. Chapter 1

_A/N The Christmas Special again showed how much Charles and Elsie care about the staff and about Tom and little Sybbie. And this scene with Charles and the baby and later with Elsie was too cute to be true. Have a fanfic :)_

**Christmas Special spoilers!**_  
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The house was unusually quiet and eerily peaceful as he walked along the gallery, the thick carpet muffling his footfall. He was a ghost in this deserted place, haunting the halls. There were no sounds the walls could reverberate and at some point he felt like an intruder who accidentally got lost in a strange estate, an unknown place, where he could not find his way out. So Charles started to hum a tune while he checked the state of the house. It kept him in the here and now, eased the loneliness away. As much as he sometimes longed for it at busy days with too many tasks to fulfil, today he dreaded it, because he could have avoided it. He had been asked several times to go with them, to leave his duties behind for one day, to simply be Charles instead of Mr Carson.

"_You'd enjoy yourself!" _she had said, with that pleading and hopeful edge in her voice. Yes, he most definitely would have! It had been years since his last visit to a country fair. The last memory he could recall was from a time when he still was a footman, so much younger, so much more carefree and without all the responsibility he now felt weighing heavily on his shoulders. The responsibility was what had kept him here, had made him reject her offer. The boys would not have had any fun had he accompanied them. First she did not believe him but it had not been an assumption, a long-shot guess, he knew them too well, knew his position too well and remembered his days as a footman. He would have hated it if the butler had come with them all these years ago. He would have spoiled their fun and Charles had proven his point at breakfast the same day.

He walked round another corner, checked the silverware, gleaming from James's and Alfred's polishing earlier, adjusted a silver bowl on a small table that stood in a corner of the gallery. This was his task today, all day, until they returned. Probably laughing and smiling, their heads full of memories and stories to tell. Then the house would be almost back to normal, no longer deserted. They would bring this place back to life again, revive it, give it back the sounds they had taken away with their departure earlier.

Charles had waited until everyone was out through the back door, had lingered in the corridor in front of the open door in case someone returned: to fetch some forgotten hat, bag or a pair of gloves. And there had been this vain hope that she would return, take his arm and simply drag him out without any further comment and not accepting his protest that he really should not go. But she did not do him this favour. She had been the last to leave the house, had smiled at him, said good bye and promised him that she won't stay long.

He took out his pocket watch, wondered how much time had passed and how long "long" actually meant. They had left three hours ago and he had done nothing so far that was worth a story. Instead he passed another door, some more paintings on the wall, all the small things that made this house inhabitable and were so important to him. For the family all these things were decorations, simple objects with no purpose. But Charles thought of them as a proof of people's existence, knew the stories behind a simple painting of a tall ship, or who bought the large vase on that side table. These things characterized the family, made them human, kept them alive even in their absence.

A smile crossed his face when he thought of the many things she kept in her sitting room on too many shelves. Little trinkets, fine pieces of china, pictures, photographs, vases, books. They told him who she was, what she liked even if only to some extent. But it made the sitting room, her room not someone else's. His hand reached out to touch an old oil painting that hung slightly askew. He aligned it with the other paintings. Everything had to be correct, in the right place, like always, like him today. Charles let out a deep sigh, this obviously was his destiny today, keeping everything in order. And this was the place where he was supposed to be. Usually he simply accepted it. But today, the more time passed, the more his thoughts went in the wrong direction, regret started to arise. He had to distract himself once more and started humming again, walked on, tried to ignore everything else until he heard a peculiar noise.

A high-pitched sobbing and crying could be heard from behind a closed door, from the only other human being who was still in the house apart from him and whose existence he had completely forgotten. He stopped in this tracks, listened for a few seconds, hoped she would stop crying, but she continued. In fact, her protest grew louder with every second that passed. Charles hesitated for another brief moment. The last time he had taken care of a toddler was also so far in the past that the memory of it was slightly blurred but a cherished one nonetheless. He wasn't sure if he still knew how to soothe a baby, besides it wasn't his duty to take care of her, they had a nanny.

Sybil had been her favourite, he remembered, she had held the girl when the young lady came downstairs to seek comfort. Elsie believed no one knew about this soft spot she had for this particular member of the family. But of course he had found out soon, kept it a secret for her. He on the other hand had taken care of Lady Mary at any given opportunity, told her stories, gave her biscuits from Mrs Patmore's secret cookie jar and sometimes he even sang to her.

Her cries did not stop and he closed his eyes for a moment, contemplated his options. This child, behind that closed door was not as fortunate as the young ladies of the house. She was motherless. As soon as this word crossed his mind he ignored all propriety and opened the door to the nursery. She was not only Mr. Branson's daughter, she was lady Sybil's little girl. And he would take care of her now. The toddler stood in her bed, tears streaming down her face and she seemed to be as lonely as he was at the moment. What did it matter now that it was not his duty to take care of the child. He had done this before and it was not Sybbies fault that her father did not know his place in society, that he had married an aristocrat. Oh Elsie would berate him had he uttered these thoughts loud and in front of her,

"Hello, what's the matter with you?" his voice was soft now and he tried not to sound intimidating, kept his tone light and a few halftones higher than usual. Sybil did not look at him and continued crying. It melted his heart to see the girl like this and at the same time made him forget who her father was. She had her mother's features, the soft brown hair, the attentive big eyes now red from crying. In fact, the girl looked just like her.

"Where's your nanny… ohhh…" Her little hands reached out for him and he lifted her up from the bed, settled her in his arms. "Let's have a chat about it, eh?" The toddler stopped crying immediately when he bounced her on his hip and soothingly started to pat her back and stroked her small head, She was so fragile in his arms and he suddenly felt this urge to protect her, to take care of her for the rest of the day, or at least until the others returned from the country fair.

"Fancy a walk, little one, mhhh?" Of course she did not answer, only looked at him with those big eyes before she buried her head on his chest. "It's alright. I'm here."

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TBC


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N Thank you for your lovely reviews! I wish I could reply to all of them but "anonymous" reviews don't offer me this. So please: if you have an account here: leave a signed review, thank you! (or at least don't leave a review as "guest" only so that I can use your name and thank you here!)_

_Chapter 02 of this story. I hope you like it.  
_

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It was loud, crowded, full of different, unfamiliar smells; incomparable to a usual day at the house, yet at the same time similar to the daily hustle and bustle downstairs in the kitchen. She took a deep breath to inhale all the smells deeply. The sugary food, spiced drinks, fresh cider, roasted meat. It all brought back so many memories, good and bad ones. In her childhood she had been to many a country fair where the boys from the village would ask her for a dance and invite her for a drink. Often the reels went on throughout the night until the wee hours of the morning. On a country fair such as this she had received her first kiss, from Joe and on a different one, only a few years ago, before the war, her last kiss. From the same man.

When Beryl had suggested that they'd all go she had smiled, almost grinned with delight, and agreed immediately of course. Only later, alone in her sitting room, did she think about this spontaneous decision properly: what visiting this fair would mean, that a lot of emotions and long forgotten moments would inevitably surface again, causing her more pain than joy.

Maybe this fear of revisiting her past memories was one of the reasons why she had insisted that he accompanied them, her in particular. Although she instinctively knew he would not agree. He could not leave the house alone, with only Mr. Branson to take care of it. But she had to try, needed to tell herself that she at least had asked him, negotiated a bit and took the chance to take the next step in their peculiar relationship. With him at her side the country fair would have had a new meaning, replace all the old (though often fond) memories with new ones, She had longed to walk close at his side, maybe he would have offered her his arm, buy her a drink, share a meal with her. Instead she left the house without him, could understand his decision but at the same time hated it that he had been right when he had said, "_They would not have fun." _

When it came to the boys, Jimmy and Alfred, this might be true. Being chaperoned by the butler on a day off was something she also would not have looked forward to as a footman or housemaid. But she would have had fun, more than she had now. She would have been just a woman enjoying herself, not the stern housekeeper.

From some distance she observed them, all of them. Beryl and this unsympathetic oaf of a man who could not keep his eyes, and even worse, his hands off other women. Daisy and Ivy, the youngest in their group, enjoying themselves at silly games The girls deserved the fun and Elsie did see no need to chaperone them, despite the fact that it should be Beryl's task to do so. What worried her most, even more than the cook's new relationship, was Mr. Branson's unawareness of Edna's flirting and advances. She had seen things like these before, too many times. Jane, Ethel and now Edna. Usually she reprimanded the girls, had done so with this new housemaid already on several occasions, but Edna would not stop. Though this time more was a stake than just a silly affair. Lady Sybil had died only a year ago. They all still mourned her, this brave young woman who did not care about propriety or her status. As much as Tom smiled today, joined the others in games, tug of war or shared drinks with Thomas and Jimmy, she knew he was not well. It was all a façade, something he put on to hide his sadness and his broken heart. He would most definitely believe her if she had told him that she knew exactly how he felt, heartbroken, alone, longing for some happiness.

So she only observed him, every move he made, every forced smile he offered Edna. If she could not keep this girl away from him, she would at least make sure she did not hurt him even more. "_Be careful my lad, or you end up with no job and a broken heart." _The words came back to her now. They were at the garden party, seven years ago, where she had warned him. Well, it had more been an advice than a warning because she knew already back then, that Lady Sybil would never give this lad up and that he, stubborn, headstrong like he was, would not take her advice seriously. But at least she had tried.

Elsie took a deep breath, this time to forget about her position for a moment, to let go of the responsibility and the worry. She was neither his mother nor that of the other young folk working for the family. She was the housekeeper and today she wanted to be Elsie. But it was not as easy as she wished and wanted it to be. Again her thoughts wandered back to their departure earlier, how he had wished them goodbye, with that sad smile on his face. She had wanted to turn around, once out of the house, return to him, take his hand and take him to the country fair. He deserved this, to be himself for a few hours, to let go of his butler persona. Still, she knew that he would never admit this in front of her directly.

Absentmindedly she sipped her cider while never taking her eyes off Tom Branson who had just won this silly game, along with Thomas, Jimmy and Alfred. Well, sometimes men needed to display their strength. Joe also had taken his chance and won her that small straw doll. She had kept it until after the war. As a reminder of a happy time, a life so different from the one they lived now, but also as a reminder of her old life, that long forgotten childhood in Scotland. But then her illness and the fear of a too early death had changed her, she had learned to let go, had thrown away the doll, and buried her past. She allowed herself to be more open, with the people around her and especially when being in his presence. Life was too short to ignore ones own emotions forever.

And now this fair! Her mind went round in circles again and she needed distraction. Elsie finished her cider and bought a ride on the carousel. This was what he had liked best, aside from the dancing, as a young girl. All around her the world started to spin, got blurred. She closed her eyes to enjoy the sensation, the freedom, this moment of breaking decorum, the fun she allowed herself to have. When she opened her eyes again, they where sitting almost in front of her, and he reached out, tentatively, to hold Edna. Elsie frowned, this had to end! Soon. It was too much and impossible for her to ignore anymore. There was no strength left within her to mend this broken heart once again.

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TBC


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N Wow! So many followers! Thank you for the trust you have in me and in this story ;). And again thank you for the lovely reviews (PercySnail/heymovie1/Hogwarts Duo/kouw/LC)._

_Enjoy reading.  
_

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And then something happened she did not see coming, as much as she had made it her task for today to take care of all of them, this one thing she had not noticed during all the hustle and bustle around her. Only when she saw Jimmy running towards her, out of breath, his cap falling off his head, unnoticed, did she realize that one person was missing. The young footman doubled over in front of her, tried to catch his breath, before he was able to speak.

"Dr. Clarkson. I need Dr. Clarkson. It's Mr. Barrow!" He did not say anything else, was too exhausted from the running so the only thing she could do was to scan the crowd, desperately trying to spot the doctor or Mrs. Crawley amongst the many visitors of the country fair. She should have taken better care, of all of them, not just focused on Tom Branson and Beryl. Leaving them all more or less unattended had been a mistake, simply enjoying herself for one day, like she had initially planned, had proven to be impossible.

"What has happened, Jimmy?" She decided to try it again, addressed him by his given name. She would never call him James, although Mr. Carson preferred it, had forbidden everyone to call the lad by this name. But she knew the butler long enough to allow herself some liberties, ignore a rule he had set for the others from time to time, would not listen to his sometimes tiring and too long monologues about tradition. Besides, he was not here, he could not hear her and she did not care about any rules that only applied when they were around the family. It was more important to find out what had happened. And aside from that, she knew that he would not mind it in this situation because underneath all the stiff and ever so correct façade was a kind and gentle soul hidden.

"He got into a fight!" Jimmy answered and brought her out of her uncalled for reverie. Elsie gasped and covered her mouth with one hand to muffle the sound.

"Where is Dr. Clarkson?" Her voice was now filled with worry. She still could not see the man, had looked everywhere, turned around several times. The way the young boy had hurried across the meadow a minute ago, indicated that Thomas was severely injured. But then Jimmy started to run again, in the direction of the refreshment stalls where the doctor was sitting at a table, next to Mrs. Crawley, engrossed in a conversation. How had she not seen him over there? As soon as Jimmy had approached him, the man was on his feet.

Thomas of all people! As if he had not already endured enough. Why did he always get into trouble when in the last year he had made such good progress in his new position? Elsie's mind was racing while she followed Jimmy, Dr. Clarkson and the others across the grounds. She had watched Thomas, tried to point him in the right direction this past year, let him know that she trusted him, helped him wherever she could (behind Mr. Carson's back sometimes). After all, it had been her suggestion to make him under butler instead of letting him go without a reference. And how often had she discussed his work over a glass of wine with Mr. Carson? How many times had she been able to demonstrate that this decision had been a good one? That Thomas had changed?

They crossed a small river, turned left and found themselves underneath a bridge where the poor soul leaned against the dirty brick wall, bruised, bleeding, his face disfigured by a black eye and cuts at his brow and all over his face. She bit her lip, looked down at him, concerned and in disbelief that this had really happened. Dr. Clarkson knelt down, checked the injuries carefully, wiped away some of the blood from Thomas's nose.

"But why did you get into a fight? That's not like you!" she said, just to say something. Thomas was feisty but in all his time at Downton Abbey, he had only once gotten into a fight, with William. "Is anything broken?" The doctor looked up to her, shook his head and Elsie felt relief rush through her body. At least he had a bit of luck in all this mess. He would be all right and she would make sure that someone would look after Thomas as soon as they were back home.

It was Tom Branson who made the next decision. "I'll go and fetch the wagonette", and he was off while Alfred and Dr. Clarkson helped Thomas to stand up. She could see in his face how much it cost him to not wince in pain, then noticed how his eyes briefly moved from her face to Jimmy's. The footman had remained in the background, had not said a single word, not dared to come closer while Dr. Clarkson took care of the injured man. Elsie observed them, tried to understand this fleeting exchange. There was still some of the unspoken disgust visible on Jimmy's face, although the incident was long forgotten. No one talked about it anymore. But between these two it would probably always be an issue.

Slowly, the group stumbled back towards where they had left the cars. A relaxing day was suddenly over; their formerly happy faces now showed their shock. Beryl had forgotten her suitor altogether, Ivy and Daisy clung to each other and even Alfred seemed lost in thought. The only person not affected by this tragic turn of events was Edna who walked next to her with a smile on her face. Elsie would have loved to reprimand the silly girl now, on the spot, tell her to show some respect, but it would do nothing good. Better talk to her later, in the safety of her sitting room where she felt so much stronger, more determined than now. At least Mr. Branson was not at her side right now although this fact was only a small relief compared to what would await all of them back at Downton Abbey. Elsie let out an unintentional sigh.

"Is something the matter?" Beryl's voice startled her, she had not seen the woman standing next to her, had believed no one had noticed how concerned she actually was. Now she had to find an answer to this question, a simple one, one that would satisfy the cook's curiosity and quench her worry at the same time. She could impossibly tell her what she had observed all day: Mr. Tufton and his disloyalty, Tom Branson, Jimmy and Thomas. What could Beryl do about it? Nothing.

"I am sad that the day had to end like this." This was the only answer she could give at the moment. Perhaps she found the strength to explain everything that was on her mind later.

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TBC


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N Wow this took longer than expected to update. But it's the longest chapter so far! Thank you for all of your wonderful reviews and for following the story! *bighugs* _

_Enjoy reading :)  
_

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On a normal day, the quietness of the house would have been depressing. He never knew how to handle free time, moments when his expertise was not required, days when there was no work to be done and he had time to rest, but actually had no intention to do so. Young housemaids, footmen, kitchen maids looked forward to their half days, he on the other hand disliked them. But today everything was different. The deserted corridors and drawing rooms allowed him to explore the house freely and most of all, made it possible for him to carry the little girl around, into every room he came across, with no one there to remind him of his position in the household. For once, Charles ignored the voice inside his head that told him to return to his duties and search for Nanny.

They had started their tour with the upstairs bedrooms. He opened doors, took a few steps inside the families private rooms, showed Sybbie the fine paintings, furniture and the wonderful view across the garden, told the small girl in his arms a story about each and everyone of her relatives. Mr. Branson would not be able to do so, Charles thought angrily at some point. He knew nothing about Lady Sybil's childhood or how Lady Edith and Lady Mary had one day played hide and seek in the downstairs quarters, leaving a crying young Sybil upstairs to search for them. But the girl could not find them, felt lonely and forgotten until Charles had found her, sitting on the floor, her back resting against one of the green baize doors he had just stepped through. Together they then searched everywhere for the young ladies and found them, an hour later, in the kitchen, eating Mrs. Patmore's biscuits.

"But your mother wasn't envying them. She was in my arms, just as you are now and so very proud that I was helping her find her sisters." The memory of this special moment made him smile but at the same time saddened him more than he would ever admit.

_The kindest spirit under this roof is gone. _She had said that night. No characterization was more appropriate to describe Lady Sybil. Her daughter, who had taken an interest in a painting on the wall that pictured a dog and a cat, and who had previously not paid attention to his story, or so it seemed to him, was now suddenly looking at him. With big eyes, almost as if she was trying to ease away the sudden pain his heart. One of her small hands reached out and touched his cheek, not shy or tentatively but very determined.

"It is alright, little one. I just remembered what a wonderful person your mother was." In a rare moment of affection he took the small hand and kissed the inside of it. No one could see him; no one would ever know that the stern butler could be so gentle. Sybbie started to giggle, freed her hand from his and put both of hers on his face, leaned forward and kissed the tip of his nose. He was taken aback, did not know how to react, what to do. None of this had ever happened to him before. The young ladies, and he had seen all of them grow up from the day they were born, had never showed their affection like this. Although he had never been stern or reprimanding in their presence, never been the stern butler in front of them, he also had never kissed their cheeks or hugged them. It was not in his place to do so.

Sybbie did not let go of his cheeks, instead her face lit up with a smile, and she leant forward to repeat what she had done mere minutes before. Another peck landed on his nose and the girl started to giggle again when Charles raised his eyebrows this time and tickled her belly. Perhaps the only possible reaction he could allow to show was to join her game for a moment, to give this girl a few happy memories. Though when Sybbie tried her luck for the third time, he stopped her by raising his hand and shaking his head. As much as he had enjoyed these moments, he should also put an end to them now. He was, after all, a servant and not her grandfather or another close relative. To not upset her, he bounced her a bit in his hip to make her laugh again, then continued their walk by descending the large main staircase carefully.

"Let's see what we discover downstairs, shall we go and have a look?" The girl opened her eyes as wide as she could when they entered the large hall and looked up to the gallery they had previously walked along. For Charles the house was so familiar after all these years. Every corner, every single room, every painting or carpet he had seen a million times. The building held nothing special or exciting anymore for him. But with Sybbie in his arms he experienced Downton in a different way. The young eyes knew nothing about the world outside, all was new and interesting for them. Maybe he should try and look at things with her eyes today, join in her enthusiasm and curiosity. Even if it was only for a few hours.

They left the great hall and entered the library. Charles loved this room since his first days in the house, with those thick red carpets and the old wooden shelves that had housed books for centuries. The smell was different compared to other rooms in the house, dusty, warm, old paper and ink. It took one away into another world, made him immediately feel at home. Slowly he wandered along the long line of shelves, read the titles of the books, took one out, opened it with one hand and allowed Sybbie to touch the pages. The volume he had chosen was a small, rather thin book about exotic birds, full of beautiful, coloured illustrations.

"See, this is a parrot." He pointed at the picture of the majestic bird but Sybbie seemed a bit confused and alternately looked at him and then back at the drawing. "It is a big bird that lives in a far away country." He was able to capture her gaze and continued with his explanation when he was sure she was listening. "Your great grandfather once owned one. And it could talk." What made him imitate the old Lord's parrot he did not know but the moment he croaked "stupid bird" in what sounded vaguely like a parrot, Sybbie shook with laughter and clapped her hands. He continued with this game for a few more minutes, discovering a few more birds he tried to imitate. Never did he think that taking care of this child would be so enjoyable. He was so occupied in their little game that he did not hear the door open at the far end of the library.

Charles was about to put the book back where it belonged when he noticed that someone else was in the room, probably Miss Sybil's Nanny. But when he slowly turned around he was surprised to see Elsie Hughes standing in there, a smile on her face, observing them from the distance. He had not expected her to be back yet, after all the hours he had already spent on his own in the large house, after all the hours he had waited for the group to return. Besides, why was she in the library and not downstairs with the others? Had she heard him and Sybbie? Charles noticed that he was a bit embarrassed although there was no apparent reason to be so. After all, this was Elsie, not Jimmy or Alfred who had overheard him. She would understand why he was in here with the child in his arms, making funny noises while reading a book.

He cleared his throat to drive away the sudden uneasiness and returned her smile.

"Oh, you are back then?"

Elsie started to walk towards them, still smiling and he noticed, still in her casual cream coloured blouse and dark skirt.

"We are and we've a few stories to tell." There was that tone in her voice that told him her stories were not altogether pleasant ones. As much as he had envied her earlier for her ability to forget about her duties for a day, now he was a bit concerned and wanted to know what had actually happened. But she did not give him a chance to ask.

"But you've spent your day more productively I see." She was now standing right in front of them, with the loveliest smile on her face and in her eyes, that he had ever seen. It distracted him immediately although he knew it was something that should not affect him. Not as a butler of this house, not in his position. But it did, and today he could not help himself and again smiled back. The temptation was too big to simply ignore it, and just like Sybbie's, his gaze was fixed on Elsie Hughes now. "Where's Nanny?"

She brought him out of his reverie with her question. It seemed she found it a bit odd to see him wandering around with a toddler in his arms, after all.

"I am not sure. But she'll find us in a moment." To be honest, she had not found them for the last hour. Wherever this woman was, he would have a word with her later. Sybbie fidgeted on his hip and turned her head to look at something behind him. Prompt, his thoughts wandered back to her and away from his job once again. "I was thinking about Lady Sybil when she was this age." The girl was so much like her mother and it filled him with this wonderful happy, yet sad feeling of nostalgia. Elsie's face, he noticed, changed with the mention of the young Lady's name, her smile now the exact opposite of her previously happy one.

"All we can do for her now it so cherish her bairn." The corners of her mouth twitched. "And it's lovely to watch you doing just that." He could see how the expression on her face changed once again to something so sad he was afraid it would make her regret her sudden display of feelings later. And there was one thing he could not handle at all: a crying Elsie Hughes. And he knew the tears would fall soon, affect him too if he did not intervene now.

"There is no need to get sentimental, Mrs. Hughes." His voice was much harsher than he had intended it to sound but it had the desired affect. She bit her lip, looked up to him, apologized wordlessly with a tiny smile. He had destroyed their moment of remembrance too abruptly. "Alright, let's get this one back to bed." In another attempt to get away from the sentimentality that had overcome both of them, he quickly turned around, waited for her to follow him, to leave this conversation behind.

On their way through the great hall and back upstairs she walked close behind him silently, not next to him. He could hear her breathing, deeply in and out. The sadness was still overwhelming and he tried to struggle against it, would not allow it to triumph. He remembered her smile earlier that looked like a promise for some interesting stories over a shared glass of wine later, some privacy, a moment where he could discard his façade for a few hours before they started a new day.

Maybe reminding her of this part of their conversation would distract her. "So what are the these stories you wanted to tell me about?" He looked over his shoulder at her. She had her gaze fixed on the carpet they were walking on, did not hold her head high and proud as was her usual demeanour. He had ruined it all with this one stupid comment, had reprimanded her, of all people. She did not answer him, seemed not to have heard his question.

"I am sorry, truly I am." He tried it again. This time her head jerked up and he could see that her eyes were full with unshed tears. Not now, not here. Charles gave her another smile before he opened the door to the nursery with one hand. Elsie went into the room ahead of him, switched on the light, picked up a little plush bear from the small bed.

"Come here, Sybil, you should be sleeping already." The girl had already buried her face into Charles's shirt and looked up now when she heard Elsie's voice, so soft and loving. Her left hand reached out to grad her bear and Charles carefully set her down into the bed where Sybbie immediately curled into a tiny ball, pressing the bear to her face. Elsie stroked the soft hair and he would not have been surprised if she would have bent down to place a kiss on the girl's head. But of course she did not. Something else happened instead. With the back of her hand, she wiped across her face and only now did he notice that she was crying silently.

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TBC


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N Again sorry for the long delay :( but I started this chapter three times and every time it was just meeeh. Don't really like the way it is now but it's much better than my first three tries :). Thank you for all your support and kind reviews! _

_Enjoy reading - and as always: the characters are not mine.  
_

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She had desperately tried to control her emotions, the myriad thoughts and worries that occupied her mind and had made her day more and more miserable instead of enjoyable. But in the end she could not swallow down her tears, ignore the overwhelming sadness. This was not only and simply about Lady Sybil. Elsie had shed her tears for the young lady a year ago, on the day she died, at the funeral and surprisingly there were still enough tears left days after the initial shock.

Although she was only the housekeeper, no close relative or even her mother, in fact they both were neither father nor mother to any living soul or the ones under their care, Elsie had had difficulties to handle her feelings after Lady Sybil's death. Perhaps is was because lately she had felt more like a mother than a housekeeper, had allowed herself to care more, to expose her feelings more often, to smile and laugh more frequently. Life was too short. She knew this now, especially after she had faced an uncertain future for a few months, did not know whether she would still be alive come Christmas. How fast could an illness change everything? Destroy every chance? Take away the one's you love? It was not worth it to ignore every bit of emotion, to suppress it and forget about it.

Of course she had not expected to break down in front of him, crying openly, not hiding anything anymore. But she had lost the fight, had no strength left to keep up her façade. Simply too much had happened in the course of the last year: Miss Sybil's loss, something the little girl did not even understand yet, the funeral of her mother, Tom Branson and his still so unfamiliar position in this family, Thomas and his uncertainty, the secret the man had to hide each and every day. She cried for all of them.

Elsie took a deep breath, tried to calm down, to stop the tears from falling. One hand gripped the frame of the children's bed, with the other she wiped across her wet cheeks. She needed to hold onto something now or else her knees would give away.

"Mrs. Hughes." His voice was soft but although he stood right next to her it sounded far away. He spoke her name again, soothingly. She would have loved to find comfort in his arms now, however there was no way for him to give her what she needed. He would never take the step and touch her, hold her. Never allow his façade to fall to pieces completely in front of her. She only ever saw bits of his true self from time to time, never the real Charles Carson. And she was used to it. Another deep breath and she felt ready to let go of the bed, straightened her back and yet could not look up and face him, let alone walk out of this room. Her feet did not obey. Her body ignored the orders it was given. Only her voice seemed to function properly.

"I am sorry Mr. Carson. Will you excuse me now?" She tried to move once again and her feet actually shuffled forward until his hand on her shoulder stopped her, then his arm around her waist and his broad chest in front of her face blocked her way completely. Instinctively she rested her head on the starched shirt, encircled his body without hesitation and finally relaxed against him.

"Everything will be all right." He murmured into her hair while his hands gently stroked her back. "I know how you feel." So quiet, almost inaudible was his voice that for one moment she thought she had imagined what he had said. "Let me take care of you now."

ooooo

The made their way upstairs, slowly, to the attic, leaving the now sleeping Miss Sybil behind in the nursery. Step after step he helped her to climb the many stairs, arms supportively around her waist. Not a single word was spoken between them, whatever they wanted to say was communicated with a fleeting touch of this hand on her cheek when they reached the double staircase that led to the sleeping quarters, and by a look into his eyes and the small smile on his lips before he led her towards the women's staircase, held her close to his side until they reached her bedroom.

"You should rest now. We can talk later." He even opened the door for her and she half expected him to lead her into the room as well, to also take this step today. But he did not. He released her from his touch, smiled one last time, turned around and left her standing there, alone in her bedroom.

ooooo

It was not like her to lie down in the middle of the day, to relax despite a full schedule and duties to fulfil. But she could not face what waited for her downstairs right now. She had to ignore all her responsibilities at this very moment, forget about Thomas, Edna and Mr. Branson. Most of all, force back every memory of Lady Sybil at once or otherwise she would never be able to leave her room today.

With shaking hands, Elsie unpinned the brooch, opened the first four buttons of her blouse, sat down on the bed, removed her shoes, then swung her legs onto the bed to lie down. Never had this been more welcomed than today. The bed was soft, her pillow comforting and it soaked up the last of her tears. She closed her eyes and tried to forget the worries, remember the joyful moments of this day. How she had seen him there in the library, holding the little girl, like a father, or rather a grandfather. The ride on the carousel, feeling like a young lass again. A glass of punch, refreshing and relaxing. The warm summer sun on her face and the smells of a country fair tingling her nose.

Slowly she drifted into a restless sleep. They would talk later. Perhaps he would nevertheless change the memories she had always associated with a country fair. To the better, to something she enjoyed when she thought of it. Albeit he had not accompanied them, he had been there afterwards, like the last time and that was what counted more than anything else.

* * *

**TBC**

**I know, this is too short...**


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N hmpf. This was not easy to write. So forgive me if this chapter is stupid and the phrases do not make any sense. I was thinking in German too much :)._

_Thanks again for your lovely reviews. Especially onesimus! 3  
_

_Enjoy reading - the characters are not mine, they were invented by someone called Fellowes and they live in my TV (and in my head).  
_

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He could not let her stand there in the middle of the room and cry. A few years ago this might not have affected him he thought for a brief moment, but then banished this assumption right away. No, he had to be honest with himself, had to acknowledge that he had never been able to ignore it when she cried. What made tonight different in comparison to those other moments, when she was more herself and not the strict housekeeper, mainly in the evenings when they shared a glass of wine or some tea, was that he had always managed to suppress the impulse to reach out, touch her, comfort her. But tonight he could not. No one should be left alone with ones grief. And he was sure that it had not been his untimely comment that had caused her distress, but their mutual grief for Lady Sybil. It had taken him a moment to realize this but when he had understood the situation he had to act immediately, without hesitation. Otherwise he would have missed his chance, again.

_I guess you never wasted a chance. _

If she only knew how many he had let slip away over the years.

He was not entirely sure what made him do it, embrace her, calm her down, even escort her to her bedroom. Perhaps it was the fact that for once he knew exactly how she felt, was not afraid of making a mistake, a wrong move she could misunderstand. Charles did not think. He simply acted. This was something rare, unusual for him, just like this whole day with all those revisited memories, the stories he remembered and told, the uncalled for nostalgia. He had not been himself all day, or was he more himself now than ever before?

Charles had not taken the last step, had not entered her room, instead turned around before he could cross the threshold and made his way downstairs quickly, away from the temptation to hold her a while longer than was proper. He downright fled from what he had just experienced, felt the need to get away from it. He had to avoid and ignore all of a sudden what he had enjoyed moments before in the nursery: the feeling of being whole again, of belonging somewhere other than just this house.

Even before he had reached the end of the stairs, he could hear their quiet conversation, no laughter though. Charles straightened his waistcoat and his tie, cleared his throat and then entered the servant's hall. Chairs scraped across the floor when everyone stood up. This was what he was used to, a situation he could handle without even thinking. Being in charge, being the one who made the rules. There was no uncertainty here. He let his gaze wander from face to face and stopped when it reached Thomas.

"What has happened?" Was this the story Elsie Hughes had wanted to tell him=

"He was robbed." Mrs. Patmore stood in the doorway behind him and took the liberty of answering for the underbutler. Tuning around to face her, Charles tried to keep his arising anger in check. Why did this man always get himself into trouble?

"Robbed? I thought you were visiting a simple country fair?"

"Mr. Carson, it is not how you think." Thomas piped up, his voice still slightly slurred because of a swollen lip.

"Well then tell me what I need to know." Impatiently he tapped his fingers on the tabletop while he waited for Thomas's explanation. When it came, Charles swallowed hard. He had not expected something like this. Usually Mr. Barrow was responsible for the trouble he got himself into. But today, perhaps for the first time since Charles knew him, the young man had for once fought for someone else, to keep Jimmy Kent out of trouble.

"I know I should've known better." Thomas cast his eyes down and Charles stopped the fidgeting, looked again at the man.

"You need to rest. Go upstairs and take the rest of the day off and maybe tomorrow too. I make my decision about that in the morning." He could not be angry with him now that he had heard the full story. The bruises and cuts were enough of a punishment and reminder.

"Thank you Mr. Carson."

"Now go before I change my mind."

The others left the servants hall along with Thomas. Only Mrs. Patmore stayed behind, he could see her standing there in the doorway still, looking at him with an expression on her face he was unable to decipher.

"Is there something else I should know?" Although he did not really want to know, was afraid there was more bad news he had to deal with. Elsie's breakdown had already been enough for one day. Adding Thomas, Charles was way beyond what he was usually able to handle. Everything that differed from the normal routine made him nervous. There was no rule for it, nothing could be applied to solve the chaos he felt being trapped in at the moment. With a deep sigh he sat down at the head of the table, waiting for Mrs. Patmore's answer.

"Oh no, it is nothing, really." But he knew there was something wrong. He could read between the lines if he wanted to, more often than he probably ought to.

"When you say it like this there usually is something else wrong, Mrs. Patmore."

She took a chair, sat down next to him on O'Brien's usual spot at the table and began to play with the buttons on her coat. Seeing her so quiet and shy irritated Charles more than he would ever admit in front of her. He simply hoped the cook would tell him what was troubling her now. He did not have the patience to wait for long.

"On the fair I might have witnessed a few things you and Mrs. Hughes should know and take care of." And then she told him what about Mr. Branson and Edna. How they held hands and how this was more of the housemaid's initiative than Mr. Branson's.

"Why didn't you tell me right away instead of…" He could not finish his sentence because suddenly the old Mrs. Patmore was back, matching the tone he had just used, angry and a bit too loud.

"Oh I know what you think of him and how you would've reacted if he were still in this room. But he does not deserve this, Mr. Carson. It is not entirely his fault."

"It never is", he grumbled and was about to reply, when Mrs. Patmore interrupted him again.

"Mrs. Hughes has probably also seen this. You should let her take care of it." Beryl Patmore stood up and made her way towards the open door when she turned around once more, brow furrowed. "Where is she by the way? She only said she'd look for you and I haven't seen her since."

Charles knew that whatever he said, Mrs. Patmore would notice a lie right away. So his only option was to tell the truth, albeit not in detail. As long as he did not fully understand what had happened between them no one lese needed to know.

"She is taking a rest upstairs." At least he hoped she still was in her room.

"I see. Well I'll prepare dinner now. Please let me know when she's downstairs again." She left the servants hall and the room was as suddenly as empty now as it had been all day ling. Charles remained seated, eyes fixed on some distant point in the room in an effort to sort out his thoughts. Mrs. Patmore was right, he had not treated Mr. Branson with the respect the man deserved. And he would have attacked him right away. It was easy for him to look at Miss Sybil, take care of the girl today and not think about her father because he did not see Tom Branson in the toddlers face, only Lady Sybil. He could not deal with this new situation. He had never been confronted with someone who had once been under his jurisdiction and then suddenly ranked above him, not within the downstairs hierarchy but above all of them, in the gentry. Charles had so far always tried to ignore Tom Branson, avoided every close contact with the man because of his own uncertainty. No one needed to know that the butler had lost his self-assurance when it came to Branson. He would ridicule not only his position but also himself. But now that this simple housemaid made advances towards the former chauffeur, Charles was no longer sure if he could continue his avoidance of Branson any longer. Lady Sybil should not be replaced by someone like Edna! Miss Sybil deserved better than this. And he would make this clear now, confront the maid this instant. Charles forcefully pushed back his chair, stood up and was about to go upstairs to find Edna when he saw her standing in the doorway, observing him, a faint smile on her face and a shawl around her shoulders.

"Sometimes I feel like I am their mother", she sighed, pointing towards the kitchen where Daisy and Ivy were giggling over something. "Although I know I am not and never will be." Her smile faded. "It is silly, I know. Forget that."

But he could not, because she was right.

* * *

TBC

meh, the ending. I know. Sorry for it.


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N Finally! My muse had left me :(. thank you for your kind reviews so far and for all the followers to this story! It hasn't been easy to write this chapter because I wanted them to take the next step, but how? And so in the end, this might not make the most sense when you read the previous chapters. But perhaps it does and I just don't see it?  
_

**Enjoy reading. And I would love to hear what you think of it.  
**

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"You are feeling better then?" In stark contrast to his posture, the straight back the clenched fists, the determination to run out of the kitchen, his eyes and voice were warm and soft.

She nodded and drew the shawl tighter around her shoulders, not to keep warm but to feel something, a bit of pressure, like a firm embrace, the one he had given her earlier. "A bit, thank you."

"I was just about to look for Edna." He relaxed, bent down a bit to not tower over her that much.

"I would not do that." She took a step forward, reached out with one hand to touch his arm. "Let me handle this problem later." Underneath her hand, his muscles twitched and she was suddenly aware that her spontaneous touch was as unfamiliar for him as her tears earlier. Elsie withdrew her hand instantly. She was taking too many risks today. Perhaps it was better to leave him now, retreat to her sitting room and get some work done, be alone with the thoughts that still troubled her. She turned to go, without a further look at him.

"Wait." Now it was he who touched her, his hand on her shoulder. "It was a long day. Mrs. Patmore could make us some tea."

Elsie did not face him, did not want him to remove the hand from her shoulder. "That would be lovely." For a brief moment she lingered there in the passage between servant's hall and kitchen before she took the last few steps to go over to her sitting room, closely followed by him.

She could hear Mrs. Patmore in the kitchen when she passed it, speaking in a calm voice for a change. The usual noisy clatter was missing. Daisy and Ivy were with the cook, talking, sharing their stories from the country fair, probably happy and cheerful ones without a negative connotation. Elsie tried to ignore the guilty feeling that immediately arose when she thought of what she had observed in the afternoon, her story, the one she had to tell sooner or later, but not now. She moved on, opened the door to her room and waited for him to enter behind her.

"I'll go and ask for the tea. Mrs. Patmore wanted to talk to you by the way. Shall I tell her you are busy?"

Elsie took a deep breath and then answered his question with a smile. He did not often manage to be so perceptive, especially not on stressful days. But when he was, his thoughtfulness, the ability to know exactly what to do in the right moment was overwhelming, especially today.

ooooo

"She didn't ask for you. Just reminded me that she wanted to talk to you later." He came back with a tray filled with a pot of steaming hot tea and a few biscuits. This was not their usual routine but then this day was so out of the ordinary already that it didn't really make a difference now. Wine or tea. As long as she could stay here with him for a moment before she had to confront Edna, or Tom or anyone else, she was fine.

While he had been gone to fetch the tea she had let her thoughts wander back to what she had said earlier, what had occupied her mind for quite some time today. Elsie waited for him to pour her a cup before she started the conversation.

"Do you remember when I asked you once whether you would have wanted a different life?"

_Work in a shop or a factory, have a wife and children._  
He nodded, and she was sure that he remembered every word she had said back then, would never forget this moment and more important, his hurtful answer which had made her so sad back then.

"Of course I do." A little milk was added to her tea and Elsie was sure that he deliberately kept himself busy as an excuse not to look her directly in the eyes.

"Well, I am not so sure about this anymore." She paused, could not go on now or else fresh tears would fall. Of course she had sometimes thought what it would have been like to have a family, a real family one that society accepted as one, children, a husband. But after what had happened to Tom Branson and the now motherless child, Elsie was relieved to not have to go through such pains as a mother. She could not even imagine what the loss of Lady Sybil meant for Lord and Lady Grantham. When it was already difficult for her to handle the pain of this death after a year had passed.

"Perhaps we are father and mother to those under our care but we will never truly replace their parents will we?" She swallowed down the tears. Was it a question? Or rather something she wanted to believe, what the housekeeper within her needed to believe. Never be too attached to them. They will leave sooner or later and the heartache is not worth it. But then, she could not have been cold and unfeeling towards William or ignore Anna's pain when the young woman thought she had lost her husband forever.  
He put his cup down, looked at his hands for a second before he faced her. "We cannot give them the love a father or a mother would give them." He spoke softly, filled the silent room with his dominant voice. "And we can never ignore that they came here to work. But from time to time we can let them know that they are good at what they are doing and that their time here is not wasted. And sometimes," he paused, considered his next words carefully, "we can offer them a bit more. You did that many times and I know how grateful they are. You might not have had the chance to live a different life, but I can assure you, you would have made a good mother."

Elsie let out a sob, and felt how she started to shake uncontrollably with tears streaming down her face. Whatever had gotten into her? Why did she have such difficulties to control her feelings today? She tried to calm down, make it stop but it would not work. Instead, she once again felt how his arms encircled her shoulders, drew her close to his body. She was not a woman who cried in front of a man. Her position was hard earned, required an unemotional personality most of the time, one she had perfected through the years, and yet she sat here crying again, destroying his waistcoat and shirt a second time today.

"Please excuse me." She freed herself from the warm and safe embrace, searched for a handkerchief in the pockets of her skirt, could not find one and began to look for it inside the drawers of her desk. He should leave her alone now, forget about this, pretend it never happened. But of course he would not and she was sure of this when he saw the outstretched hand offering her one of his white, fresh handkerchiefs.

"You should go." She ignored his offer. Elsie was not herself and he should not see her like this.

"No." He had never answered one of her questions that fast and with such certainty.

"Obviously I am not the best company today."

"And perhaps I should have come with you to Thirsk because _obviously_ something has happened at this country fair you are not telling me." He stepped in front of her and the next thing she felt was his hand on her cheek, the handkerchief carefully drying the tears. "I know I've had my good reasons for not accompanying you. But maybe this time I wasn't right?"

She took hold of his hand, held it in her own for a brief moment but then removed it from her face. "Nothing has happened." Nothing that could possibly explain her behaviour, or his reaction to it. "You've seen Thomas, you know about Edna and Mr. Branson. That is all there is to it." How could she tell him that there was also something else? The one thing he never had been able to read in her face, in her actions, her words in all these years. When she was acting as a mother, he was the father. They were their parents, surrogate parents of course but the closest to a family everyone below stairs could have. And that was exactly her problem at the moment. She had let them come too close, had taken care of all their problems, carried their burden and now there was no one, except him, to take care of _her_ for a change. But she knew that he would not do it, although he had been more himself today than ever before. There had already been moments like this in the past but they had both avoided tearing down the last remaining bit of the wall that was dividing them. For the same reason, Elsie had tried not to be too close to her maids: the fear of having her heart broken, or his.

"I don't think so. Elsie." He had not used her Christian name in twenty years. It sounded strange to her ears. "What I think is troubling you is something else." The hand that had been holding his, went limp. She let go of it and then felt it on her cheek again. "You cannot solve all their problems on your own." Elsie closed her eyes, waiting for what she knew would happen next. "We should take care of them together." His voice was only a whisper now and then she felt his lips on hers.

* * *

TBC (sooner this time! PROMISED! :)


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N The last two chapters were extremely difficult to write because I have problems writing them a bit ooc, writing dialogue, etc. So this is one of the excuses I have for a two week hiatus concerning this story. The other reasons are work and personal problems. _

_Enjoy reading, please tell me what you think and if this chapter makes sense at all. It is a bit different than the rest of the fic. Reviews more than welcome. Thank you for following, reading, reviewing. everything!_

* * *

He could not break the kiss, although he knew it was not proper, too forward, something he should not do. He should not even think about it, let alone act upon his feelings. But he also knew that after he had used her given name for the first time in so many years, there was no way of stopping this. Charles had overstepped the last of their invisible walls behind which they usually hid. He wanted to show her that she was not alone. The burden she wanted to carry all by herself was a shared one. They were both head of this household, the maids and footmen and hallboys were their shared responsibility not just hers.

His hand cupped her cheek, the other rested on her waist, drew her closer towards him, slowly, carefully. The last thing he wanted now was to take advantage of her vulnerability, turn this into something he would hate himself for later. And more important, ruin their relationship forever. All he wanted to do was be there for her, take care of her, show her that there was someone else hidden inside him, a person he had always tried to forget, ignore and banish for the sake of his career.

The hand on her waist wandered around her body to the small of her back. Elsie did not protest, did not back away or break the kiss. One more step, a bit closer, her body now flush against his. He had never experienced something comparable, not in the years where he was still a simple footman, or during his time on the stage. When he had thought earlier that he felt whole by holding her in his arms, as if the last piece of a puzzle had been found, now he felt complete, united with her somehow. Cautiously he let his tongue touch her lips, waited in anticipation if she would react.

Elsie opened her mouth almost instantly and he could feel her tongue against his, tentatively trying out this new experience. They were both soon lost in the embrace and their first kiss. Nothing else seemed to matter anymore. He did not care about Branson or Thomas or their dinner later or even about work. He had never imagined that he would one day kiss a woman again that passionately, or that the day would come where he was allowed to kiss _her_. Their relationship had always been more than only based on their work, their daily tasks, the running of this household. There was a friendship between them, Charles cherished more than any other he had ever had. If he was honest with himself, he had hoped for years that this kiss would happen; deep down inside him he also knew that there had always been something more than a simple friendship between them. But he never knew how to express his feelings without making a fool of himself.

He would have taken this step years ago but his subconscious longing for Elsie Hughes did not agree with the rules he had set for himself and his life in service, especially not when he became butler. So he had ignored his feelings for years. Until today, this weird, chaotic, out of place day where verything should have run as planned and nothing did in the end.

Elsie pulled away breathless, resting her head on his chest. "Thank you", she whispered. "For everything."

His hands stroked her back once more, not able to keep still. Charles wanted to feel her, had no intention of letting her go. "There is nothing to thank me for", he murmured and felt how she moved her head, then looked down into her smiling face. The tears had dried.

"You know how I meant it." A new kiss was placed on his cheek before she stepped out of his embrace, took his hand and made him sit down at the small table next to the door. "The tea is probably cold by now." And for the first time in a long year he heard her laugh again, true and heartily, over a cup of cold tea.

"It probably is", he joined in and was soon breathless again.

Across the table Elsie wiped away fresh tears with his handkerchief. This time tears of joy and laughter.

"Should I get us a fresh pot?" He had already reached for it but her hand was faster and stopped his, her fingers curled around his hand, gave it a light squeeze.

"No, don't. It is not important." Elsie looked into his eyes, did not break the contact. For a moment they got lost in each other's eyes. Charles no longer heard the voices of the kitchen maids, the footfall of the hallboys, the laughter from somewhere near the servant's hall. All seemed to stand still. He waited for her to continue, to say something, anything. He needed to know whether he still had her friendship or lost her because of his foolishness, this one moment where he had not thought at all but only acted upon his feelings.

"This day has been so unexpected." When she finally spoke, her voice was a whisper again, as if she was speaking to herself. "And there were so many things on my mind I wanted to talk to you about." Elsie closed her eyes. "So many different things." Slowly her fingers entwined with his until their hands were inseparable, lying there on the table.

He could not wait much longer; felt he had to explain to her now why he had kissed her. "Elsie," he tried out her name again, took the liberty a second time. It sounded so wonderfully soft, so different, described a completely different person than the one who had left the house this morning. This was not Mrs. Hughes sitting there in front of him. It was Elsie.

She opened her eyes again, looked at him without regret but with a hint of uncertainty in them. "I had not planned on doing this." Elsie nodded. "But you were upset, seemed so helpless and…", he stopped. Whatever he had planned to say would sound like an excuse to her, not a declaration of his true motifs and feelings. He had chosen the wrong words, made it sound as if he pitied her and only wanted to comfort her. Which was, of course, true but not the main reason why he had kissed her. Not at all. Her eyes were still looking intensely at him, waiting for an answer.

"Elsie, excuse me. I didn't mean to say it that way. I should start again." He took a deep breath and let it out slowly before he spoke the next words. "I said I had not planned on kissing you but this does not mean I haven't thought about it before. I knew it was wrong and certainly not proper and I should probably have stepped away the moment I started this. But to be honest: I could not and I didn't want to." There was a nervousness taking hold of him now he had never experienced before, not even on the stage or during banquets with the highest aristocracy.

A moment of silence followed. But then she freed her hand from his and brought it up to his cheek, let her fingers gently caress the skin. "And I didn't want to step away either, Charles. Truth is, I wanted you to accompany me this afternoon because I was tired of being only the housekeeper, the one in charge. I had hoped for a bit of time for ourselves, some moments where the house did not matter."

"But that did not happen." He concluded her thoughts and not for the first time today he blamed himself for putting his work above everything else. He had wasted another chance.

"No it did not. Instead I felt more responsible for all of them than ever before." She withdrew her hand and smiled weakly.

"I could have spared you that."

"Perhaps. But if you had come with us to the fair, this would not have happened." Her smile grew wider.

After all these years where he had tried to ignore his own feelings, had always considered work more important than anything else, had been afraid to lose this chance of a better, a new, a safer life should he breach one of the rules, the day had finally come where Charles realized, that he did not want to be only the butler of Downton Abbey anymore. There was this woman sitting right across from him at the table, smiling at him. A woman he had known, loved, admired for so many years, called her a friend. And who had now become something more.

"We are like their parents after all." He stood up and helped her out of the chair. "And we will take care of their problems together." They had not been that honest with each other for a long time. And Charles could not remember to have spoken with Elsie Hughes about such things so openly before. But it felt good, and right. "I will go upstairs and take care of Thomas and you can talk with Mrs. Patmore. I guess she's already waiting behind that door for you."

Elsie put her arms slowly around his neck, looked up to him and then stood on tiptoes until she could reach his mouth for another kiss. "Thank you for that."

* * *

TBC (yes! promised!)


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N **_Warning. This chapter is… bad! Really. Bad. I've changed the ending three times before I thought: well I could continue after this, maybe, perhaps. There is too much dialogue (and I didn't take the real dialogue from the scene in the Christmas Special) in it and it makes no sense. Thank you for your attention and I am sorry that you have waited for this so long and that you won't be happy with this. (but I've warned you) (and writing Mrs. Patmore while I think of Sister Evangelina DOES NOT HELP ;))_

* * *

She sat in her sitting room alone for a moment after he had left her. They had shared one last tender kiss and he had promised to come back later when everyone else was upstairs in their rooms, getting ready for the night after this eventful day. He had promised to hold her, to keep her company, to talk about this change in their relationship, to find out what it meant for them.

Elsie's thoughts revolved around what had happened in her sitting room, her little refuge, within the last half hour. Absentmindedly her fingers touched her lips. A kiss, another one, three kisses from a man she had known for so many years. Who had been part of her life for such a long time, had seen her move into this house, encouraged her to work for this sitting room, had seen how she had made it her home. She looked around, studied the pictures on the walls that decorated her little sanctuary, the place in this big house she proudly called her own. They showed her family, parents, friends, long forgotten memories only remembered by a single photograph or painting. She once thought that having her loved ones around her everyday, in these frames, on top of the mantelpiece and next to her ledgers, would make her feel save, at home, loved. How little did she know what being loved really meat and that although the people depicted on this little black and white prints were her family by blood, her real family was here, in this house, surrounding her every day, loving her in a different way but giving her so much more support.

_They are all the family I've got. _She understood what he had meant by this, now. How could she have been so blind all these years and not see it, deny what it was? Why had it taken so long for her to realize that she was more than a housekeeper to them, for him? Elsie took a small, framed picture from the top of her bureau and turned it in her hands until it caught enough light to illuminate the photograph sufficiently. It showed three children, all in their Sunday best, two girls and a very young boy. Elsie stood in the middle, her older sister at her right. Her brother sat on a stool, his legs too short to reach the ground so they had moved continuously while the picture was taken, making them appear blurry in the shot. Her fingers carefully touched the glass, moved across the young boy's face, across her sister's bright smile. Arthur had died a few weeks after the picture was taken. He had been on the fields, trying to help Da when the horse shied and buried him underneath its heavy body. His legs were crushed and he had died from the blood loss. After that, things were different. The picture was the last memory of _family _Elsie had. Fresh tears threatened to well up. Fortunately a knock on the door woke her from this hurtful memory.

"Come in", she called, while putting the picture back on its place next to her stationary. When she turned around Beryl stood in the doorway holding a tray with tea and biscuits.

"May I come in?"

Elsie smiled at her, the only female companion she had in this house, yet the one person she had never thought would become a friend one day. And now here they were, sharing a cup of tea after a day at a country fair.

"He was in here for quite a long time." Beryl Patmore remarked after she had put down the tray. "Is something the matter?"

If anyone else had asked this question, Elsie would simply have given "no" as an answer, but the cook did not want to know whether something was wrong or which problems they had discussed. The smirk on her face gave her away immediately.

"From the look on your face I gather you already suspect something so there is no use in answering this question now. You would not believe me anyway and the rest is non of your business Mrs. Patmore."

The eyes of the older woman widened. "My my."

Elsie rolled her eyes. She had already said too much.

"Well then how about a cuppa?" Mrs. Patmore had already started to pour the tea into their cups and Elsie added spoonful of honey to hers.

"Mr. Carson told me you wanted to discuss something with me?" She took a sip but the beverage was still too hot to drink it.

"Well yes. _He _gave me this before we left." Beryl handed her a small handwritten note and Elsie immediately knew what it would say without even reading it. Wordless she returned the note. After all the _things _she had witnessed Mr. Tufton _do_ at the fair in Thirsk, she felt guilty now that she had not told Mrs. Patmore right away what she had seen. On top of that, her guilt was mixed with anger when Elsie thought about the falseness with which this man tried to lure Mrs. Patmore away from her respectable position, her independent life here at Downton.

"Well what do you say?"

Elsie had problems finding the right words. "I should have told you…", she started, worrying her lip like she always did in such situations.

"Tell me what?" Mrs. Patmore put down her cup, a bit too forcefully so that some of the tea spilled onto the saucer.

"I've seen him do things at the fair. He was touching other women, had his hand on their…", she hesitated for a moment, trying to find an expression that sounded nicer than the one she initially had come up with in her anger. "…bottom."

Mrs. Patmore's eyes widened.

"And when he was pulling in the tug o' war I saw him chewing the mouth off of some poor woman." Elsie finished, relieved to have said it aloud. But the guilty feeling was still there along with her anger.

"While I was cheering him on?" The shocked face was so unlike Mrs. Patmore.

Elsie nodded. She had probably ruined he cook's hope of a different life now, although she was certain that whatever Mr. Tufton had to offer could not possibly be good enough for a woman like Beryl Patmore. If the cook had asked for Elsie's opinion on the man she would have told her that this guy was not worth it, not at all! But she had not asked, instead Elsie had observed her, secretly, witnessed things she then kept to herself. And now she was paying the price for not being honest and open with Mrs. Patmore right away. Sometimes withholding information in an effort not to hurt a friend's feelings was simply wrong, Elsie thought. She desperately hoped that Beryl would not leave her room immediately and never talk to her again.

"Where was I all of that time?" she asked. "Why didn't I notice?"

"Oh I don't know. I am so sorry." Elsie wanted to reach out, take one of Mrs. Patmore's hands like she had so often done with one of the maids. She wanted to show that she cared, that she was sorry, that she owed an apology. But the cook covered her face with both hands, took deep breaths and Elsie had to close her eyes for a moment to calm down. She had only seen the cook cry once. During the war. When Lord Grantham had told her that her nephew had been shot for cowardice. And she was not sure whether she could deal with this again right now. Not after all the problems she had already faced today. But when she looked at Mrs. Patmore again, Elsie realized it was not sobbing she heard, it sounded more like giggling.

Taking her hands away from her face, the grin on the cook's face was unmistakable. "Oh thank you Mrs. Hughes! I tried so hard to find an excuse to never see this man again."

"What?" Elsie had never been so confused. What was the older woman talking about all of a sudden?

"Oh the more he talked about how he liked his eggs fried and his pancakes flipped the more I wanted to get away from him."

It slowly dawned on Elsie that she had completely underestimated the woman sitting in front of her, ignored for a few minutes that it was Beryl Patmore not a silly young kitchen maid, naïve enough to believe that marrying was the ultimate goal in a woman's life.

"And now I have something to tell him in case he dares to come back! But how could he lead a poor woman on like that?"

Elsie shook her head, tried to get the last of her anger and worries out of her mind after the sudden revelation. This day was so full of surprises, had so far been so unexpected that she had no other chance than to join in Mrs. Patmore's jolly mood. "But you've heard him. _He loves to be in love."_ She rolled her eyes once more and when Beryl started to laugh out loud, Elsie could not keep her straight face. Tears streamed down her cheeks after several minutes of laughter. Never had she cried for so many different reasons in one day. Out of breath, Mrs. Patmore wiped away her own tears and took a sip of her tea.

"Cold." She giggled.

"Again?" Elsie took a few deep breaths to calm down and then put a hand around her cup. "Indeed." It was not even lukewarm.

"What do you mean by again?" Mrs. Patmore was her old self, inquiring always curious self again.

A smile crossed Elsie's face. "Like I told you before. It is non of your business." Although this time she did not really mean it. But as long as she was not sure what she should call this new relationship between her and Charles Carson, she would not say a single word. Not even to Mrs. Patmore.

"This sounds very suspicious Mrs. Hughes." The cook took a biscuit from the plate in the middle of the table.

"I don't know what you mean." Elsie took a sip of her tea although it was cold. She needed to stop talking, stop giving hints. With every word she said, she gave herself away.

"Elsie Hughes. You cannot hide things from me and you know that." The biscuit was placed onto the tea-stained saucer where it absorbed the spilled liquid immediately. "Well, just to let you know, whatever it is that's between you and him, you deserve it."

Elsie wanted to protest, say something, stop Mrs. Patmore from analysing her private life but the only thing she managed to do was to open her mouth before the cook continued with her speech. "And I think you know this too. So don't worry about it. I won't say a word."

And she could only hope that this promise was kept.

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_Thank you for all your kind words and for following this story. It should have ended two chapters ago... but well... I continue :) Please tell me when to stop!_


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N the final chapter. I should have stopped this two chapters ago. Because this last chapter really gave me a headache (that's why it took AGES to write). It doesn't feel right. It's repeating everything that was already established two chapters ago. Well. Here you go, decide for yourself.**

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"Is it over? Are they all in bed now?" Elsie rubbed her forehead, tried to wipe away the light headache that threatened to develop. She had talked to Mr Branson after Beryl Patmore had left her sitting room, helped him to understand his pain, the new situation he was in now. She had held his hands, allowed him to cry, rest his head on her shoulder. She had tried to soothe him, tell him that everything would be fine after a while. Heartache, loss, loneliness took a while to get used to and it would never fade completely, would always haunt one when least expected. Elsie knew that from experience. Why had this young man been chosen to suffer so much? Had lost what he had fought for so long? It was too early for him to be deprived of the love of his life. And there was nothing she could do about it except taking care of Tom Branson from now on, showing him a way out of his misery by reminding him that he had a small daughter, that the family had accepted him now. There was a future for this young man on this estate.

Elsie looked at the man who was sitting in front of her, so unusually close tonight, their knees and legs touching. She could not talk to him about Tom Branson, not now. Someday maybe. Tonight, he would probably call her sentimental and romantic and she would undoubtedly agree, but not without a small fight. And the last thing she wanted to do after this busy and eventful day was to argue about one of her _children. _She sighed, and closed her eyes for a moment, enjoying the quietness and his closeness. Letting herself get distracted.

"The house is asleep. They all went up an hour ago." His hand tentatively caressed her left knee now. He was extremely bold after their earlier talk, that moment of honesty, emotional revelation. Elsie had not expected him, the person who never dealt well with change, never adapted to unfamiliar situations easily, to be the one who took charge. Yet here they sat exchanging small, but meaningful touches, smiles, thoughts. And it felt good. She enjoyed his hand there, the weight and warmth of his fingers.

"That feels nice", was all she was able to say for now. Other words ran through her mind but this was all still so new for them and she decided not to rush things. Accept them, get used to them, appreciate them. Her hand joined his and she let her fingers curl around his before he lifted it to his mouth, away from her knee and kissed her knuckles one by one.

"And this?" he asked, with a tone in his voice she had never heard before, low, deep, full of desire. It was so different from the voice he used when talking to the footmen, to Thomas, Jimmy or Alfred. This was not the butler sitting there in her room so close to her, kissing her hand, this was the person she had only caught glimpses of over the years whenever he had allowed her to witness his true self.

"Never stop."

A smile curved his lips when he turned her hand around and placed a soft kiss on her palm. "Can I kiss you again?" His breath tickled her hand. Elsie closed her eyes, nodded. Exhaled slowly, waited for him to make the next move. When she felt his lips on hers it was as if she had finally found the missing piece, the one thing that awoke her from decades of only being a professional person and that now turned her into a woman. Gone were all the thoughts about today's troubles, Tom Branson, Thomas Barrow, Edna or Beryl Patmore. She concentrated on the moment, opened her lips to his touch, relished the warmth of his mouth, the excitement that spread through her body.

Like before she got lost in the moment until they both had to take a breath. His hands remained on her face, softly stroking her cheeks with his thumbs, her hands had found a place on his shoulders as if they had never done anything else. In her dreams she had imagined this moment. Mostly when he was away for the season and she needed something to hold on to, a faint hope that some day everything would change between them. Still, she had tried to ignore these dreams. Where was the point in imagining things that were impossible? Until today. And suddenly there was this one question emerging while she looked at him, was fascinated by his eyes and the little wrinkles around them. The one thing she had tried to ban from her thoughts all day.

"Is this possible? I mean, us?"

He stopped with his tender touches, only traced the outline of her lips with his index finger. "I don't know, truly."

Elsie closed her eyes again, concentrated on his gentle touch, let her thoughts drift away, forced herself to remember events from her life at Downton that had changed her life, had made things possible. She had taken on the position as housekeeper after working here for only three years. People had trusted her from the very beginning, were convinced that her perfectionism and unemotional way of handling things was the ideal combination the household needed. She had trained new housemaids, taken care of things, was often entrusted with important decisions normally only Lady Grantham had the authority to decide upon. There was hardly any interference from the lady of the house whereas on other estates housekeepers downright expected their employers to take charge at some point and make the decisions. Elsie had made the right choice when she came here twenty years ago.

Another memory flooded back. Joe Burns, a second proposal and her rejection, the strong wish to never give up what she had built up here at Downton Abbey, to not lose the career she never expected to have. Joe had been a reminder of her past, of the things she had left behind in order to better herself, to make the most of her life. Back in 1913 those were the reasons that had made her say _no _a second time. At least she had thought so until now. When in reality the man sitting opposite her, who was so much a part of her life had been in her thoughts, invaded her dreams at night ever since Joe's first letter had arrived. But she had not listen to her heart then, not exclusively. William, Anna, even Miss O'Brien had made her stay too. All these people she had to take care of, that were dependent on her, she could never have left them behind. And it took today and Joe Burns for her to realize this.

Her subconsciousness remembered another incident: his infection with Spanish flu. Elsie had naturally taken care of him, without fuss. She had delegated his tasks, run the house on her own during his absence. No one had doubted her competencies. Instead, everyone was grateful that she had been there to ensure that nothing would go wrong. Lord and Lady Grantham had regarded their housekeeper as Carson's equal partner, had not even questioned her stay in the men's corridor at night when she was at his side to ease the pain and fever. Like an old married couple, Elsie thought.

"It is possible", she whispered against his fingers. "It's long been possible." A smile spread across her face because despite their professional demeanour they had for a long time been more than simply colleagues, but had stubbornly ignored what was probably obvious to the people around them. Mrs Patmore had pointed it out earlier "_You deserve it". _Anna had so often smiled at her when Elsie had complained about _him_ for the tenth time in one day.

"We really are like their parents, you and me." She got up from her chair and took his hand that had lingered n her face. Charles was forced to also stand and she made sure he looked her in the eye before she continued with her explanation.

"It's never been more obvious to me than today." She reached out to touch his cheek, returning his gentle caresses he had given her minutes ago. "We've been through so much together and no one has ever questioned our actions."

His hand covered hers and he leaned into her touch. "And you think they wouldn't start doing so now?"

Elsie shook her head. "No. They'd probably not even notice any changes." She leaned in closer towards him, pushed away the unruly lock of hair on his forehead with her other hand before she kissed him again.

"Let us risk it, please. Times are changing and so are we."

The smile on his face was the best answer she could get, the most perfect one he had ever given her. "I'll accept this change gladly, Elsie."

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THE END

thank you for reading, thank you for all your messages, reviews, follows, etc. It's been a difficult thing to write and I am happy that you liked it nevertheless.


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